Page 121 of Merciless Daddy

His jacket hung over a chair. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing the scar along his right forearm. His collar stood open. A glass of untouched whisky sat beside his laptop.

He stared at a report without turning a page.

“You’re still working.”

He looked up. His eyes traveled over me once.

I wore one of his white shirts. Nothing beneath it except plain black underwear. The hem reached the tops of my thighs. I had buttoned only enough to cover my breasts.

Sal’s expression became carved stone.

“Where did you get that?”

“Your room.”

“You went through my things.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Why?”

“I wanted your shirt. Makes me feel close to you.”

He shut the laptop.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I slept this afternoon.”

“You’re emotionally overwhelmed.”

“I’ve been emotionally overwhelmed since birth.”

“Yelena. Baby girl.”

I closed the door. The latch clicked. His gaze sharpened.

I crossed the room. He did not move when I stopped between his knees.

“I want you so badly I can barely think.”

His breath left slowly.

“That may be the exhaustion.”

“It’s not.”

“The relief.”

“It’s part of it. But nowhere near all of it.”

I put my hands on his shoulders. His muscles tightened beneath my palms.

“Tonight,” I said, “I’m clear. I want you. All of you.”

His eyes closed for half a second. I bent and kissed his throat.

His pulse struck my lips.